Tethered (The Stables Trilogy #2) (12 page)

There was a word for what she was: Conditioned.

Because she didn’t know what else to do, she worked and hoped that enough effort could burn away her body’s response to J.B. She didn’t want to relish it. She didn’t want to fight it, either.

Maple wanted to hide, and curse J.B. for not letting her.

Chapter Ten

The girls were in a trailer.

An actual, metal horse trailer. It had been rigged on the inside for the girls with small metal rails and harnesses to strap them in. To Maple, it looked less safe with the contraptions than if the women had simply been sitting in the back.

After J.B. loaded all five girls in, he took her bag and threw it in the back, too, along with their supplies. All the dressage, some backup gear, whatever else he thought they might need for the Pony Bazaar.

Once she was buckled in the front seat, they were off.

“Where is it?”

“New Mexico.”

She settled in and watched the scenery start to drift by. It would be a long drive, just over four hours if he sped. All that time in the cab, alone with J.B., and nothing but anger on her mind.

Maple still couldn’t believe he wasn’t letting her quit. He
knew
she couldn’t afford that. And after telling her in his painting room that he’d expected her to quit long before! What an asshole!

It did fucked up things to her already distorted thoughts. J.B. was up and down, then twisted in the things he did to her. Don’t touch him, but he could touch her any way he wanted to. Ask her tons of questions and answer none of hers. Wants her to quit and then practically blackmails her into staying.

Her eyes were glued to the window, but it all started to look the same quickly. It was stunning to her, of course, but the sparse vegetation, the long and straight US-84, and practically no cars meant she was soon left with too much time for her thoughts.

The cab smells like J.B. When he’d pulled the truck up to the stable she’d been surprised. She’d expected something new. Sleek and giant. This was just an old Chevy pulling a trailer. Old like it had rust holes eating out its sides. Once inside, though, it fit. Of course he drives a beater truck. The transmission whines a bit as he pushes the speed on the empty highway.

“I’m mad at you,” she stabbed, feeling petulant.

“I figured,” was his only reply. It infuriated her more.

“You shouldn’t have made me do that!” Holding her prisoner via the cost of the event was atrocious, but his true crime against her lay in the ax, and leaving her with her beloved horse.

“You mean Bonnie?”

She exploded. “If course! You know how much I loved her! How could you have made me--” but she refused to say the words. Tried hard not to relive the horror.

“If you’d have listened--”

“J.B., fuck you and fuck your listening.” As soon as she’d uttered it, she couldn’t believe it. She’d meant to ask him why. To see if he felt guilty at all. Instead the anger took a hold and now she was cussing out the last person she could afford to be rude to.

It earned her a small smile. Incredulous, she asked, “Are you laughing at me?”

“Nope. You just got a hell of a backbone out of nowhere.”

She was flummoxed. How did he disarm every freaking conversation!? Stewing in her seat, she crossed her arms and slumped down.

After a few miles, he spoke. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was too harsh.”

She couldn’t believe it. An apology?

“I don’t exactly have a safeword for those situations, J.B.” She softened as she explained, the hard lines easing inside her. “Usually it’d be ‘I quit,’ but you ignored that, too.”

He didn’t respond to this. She didn’t know if that meant he agreed or not, but it felt a little better. A little more at ease. Of course, she was still furious. Just at a simmer instead of a boil.

“Won’t the girls be cold?” Maple broke the silence, hating the fact that she couldn’t hold out for longer. She was like her mother, though; she couldn’t hold onto anger for long, only guilt and anguish.

“They have blankets. Those emergency thermal ones. Most likely they’ll be pulling them on and off the whole trip.”

“Oh.” She picked at her fingernails. “You couldn’t just let them have clothes on the way there?”

He spared a curious glance at her. “You worried about them?”

Maple looked at her hands, twisting together. “Sure. They’re still people, even if you treat them as horses.”

His fingers drummed on the wheel. It was the first tic she’d ever seen in him. J.B. was either angry or he wasn’t, but he never seemed nervous or unsure. But now, as the pads of his fingers tapped rapidly on the cracked leather wheel, he seemed to be carefully choosing his words.

Finally, he spoke. “It is a mindset, Maple. It’s about being a pony or not being a pony. It’s like when you asked me if I fucked them.” Maple winced, remembering. He continued. “Their Masters might. I don’t know and don’t care. But you’re thinking in terms of bestiality, maybe. It isn’t about that.”

Having found his train of thought, he stopped drumming and gripped the wheel with one hand. The other rested on the window sill. “It’s about care. The girl learns to be a dependent, trainable thing. Broken in, like a horse. The accessories, the commands, the showmanship? It’s all about care. It’s about getting them into a mindset where that becomes like water for them. Or air. They need the care. They crave the guidance.

“That’s what the men are buying. They are buying someone who is willing and
needing
that kind of relationship. They
want
the dependency, and the women
want
to be dependent. The contract they establish, then, is about trust.”

“And care?” Maple added. This wasn’t at all how she’d interpreted what J.B. was doing. It was unsettling. He made this fucked up power exchange sound tender. But how could keeping girls naked for months in a stall, unable to speak and literally shitting in a bucket be tender?

“Yes,” he confirmed.

She thought, too, about the electric plug. That had been far from caring. “But you whip them. Shock them.”

“True. Sometimes that’s part of care, too. You’d punish a toddler who broke the rules. You punish a disobedient pet or, in this case, pony. It sets boundaries. Establishes a deeper trust. That the Master cares enough to protect his pony, even from herself.”

“That’s fucked up,” Maple blurted.

He smirked. “Any more fucked up than getting wet when someone whips the shit out of you, Maple?”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Because we have--” What? A relationship? A connection? That wasn’t true, was it? Maple knew they had a pull between them. It was why she struggled to run from him. It hurt too much to believe that might be why he wouldn’t let her go. But chemistry wasn’t enough. Especially not with J.B.

He didn’t respond to her lack of an answer. She didn’t know if he felt the same. Part of Maple didn’t want to know. If he agreed, then whatever dance they were doing was sicker than she imagined. If he didn’t? Well, then she was just dumb. A pathetic puppy trailing him, eager for a quick scratch behind her ears.

Maple hated being near him. Hated it because it was so beautifully fulfilling. His words resonated with her. When she was around him, she liked being dependent on him. Trusting him to take care of her. Make decisions for her. Punish her for stepping out of line. It wasn’t that different from the ponies.

She got it a little, at least. He kept them naked to firmly establish their new positions. They were ponies until their Master decided differently. If he did.

But what if the men who bought the girls were like J.B.? He might be the sexiest man Maple knew, but he also knew how to hurt her the most. A flash of going into Bonnie’s stall with the weight of the ax in her hand forced Maple to shut her eyes. Fight her breakfast threatening to come up.

When Maple wasn’t with him, she could remember how much she hated him for making her do that. For having no compassion. He lost a horse and didn’t bat an eye. He saw her tear-streaked face, features twisted in anguish, and said “go clean this mess up.” And then he wouldn’t let her go after.

The heat built a little in her. It wasn’t the gale-force rage she wanted, but it was enough to remind her that he
wasn’t
someone to be trusted. She couldn’t depend on him.

And, because he was too fucking good at reading her, he said, “You’re still mad at me.”

She inhaled sharply. “Of course I’m still mad at you!”

“Because of the ticket?”
“Because of Bonnie! And the ticket! Because you push me and push me and never explain anything!” Her hands stopped twisting in nerves, instead clamping on her knees.”You’re an asshole,” she added, but it lacked power.

“Don’t disrespect me, Maple.”

“So you get to disrespect me, abuse me, treat me like dirt-- but I don’t get to call you an asshole?”

He hit the brakes hard enough she heard the trailer wobble a little behind them. The truck slowed to a jerky stop on the side of the road. Her knuckles were white from adrenaline instead of anger now.

“Apologize,” he ordered.

“No.” This wasn’t a game Maple was going to play. J.B. was trying to intimidate her. This wasn’t ignoring his rules. It was standing up for herself. She just wished she could sound firmer. More confident.
He shut the engine off and twisted toward her. “Just because I didn’t let you quit doesn’t mean you’re exempt from following the rules.”

“You never made that  a rule.” Her skin was growing hot, and she knew she was pushing him. Probably too far. But sometimes there are just times when it is too hard to stop, even when you know it’s better to just shut up.

“I shouldn’t have to make respecting me a rule. One more chance, Maple.”

She blew a gasket. “One more chance? Yeah, right. Then you’ll give me another, and another. It doesn’t matter how much I screw up, you’ll just punish me. Then tease me, giving me a little hope. And when I’m not feeling like complete shit, you’ll rip me to shreds, you’ll decimate me. You get off on ruining me.”

He stared at her. For a long, long time. The car cooled quickly with no heat, and soon her breath was puffing out in quick spurts.

“I don’t want to ruin you,” he ground out. “And I don’t want to make you feel like shit.”

Her chest ached, and she wanted it to be true. But she knew about abusive cycles because she’d lived through one. “I don’t believe you, J.B. I can’t. It hurts so much to be around you that I can’t breathe without wanting to die a little. And hope? It’s a joke. I try not to hope, but then you’ll do these things to me. Touch me. What am I supposed to think?”

He dragged his hand through his hair. He looked tired. Maple felt the urge to apologize. To grovel. But that’s how she knew she was right, so instead she remained silent.

“What are we doing, J.B.? Why didn’t you just let me leave?”

“Because I
am
an asshole.”

This depleted her. His admission stole any remaining anger or fight she had in her. Confrontation wasn’t Maple. Each time she did it, it left her feeling doubtful and empty. Doubtful that she’d been right, which usually led to her skewing the memories until she was assuredly wrong. Empty because if she was wrong, why did she keep trying?

J.B. admitting that she was right was worse.

She had to end this conversation. J.B. didn’t talk this much. Raúl had said it, and everyone else echoed it. J.B. didn’t talk, he definitely didn’t share feelings, and Maple usually respected that. When she didn’t, it always ended up like this.

“You push me to make decisions, J.B. To be definitive. When I’m doubtful or unsure you correct me. But this? This thing between us? You’re in charge. You always have been, and I
want
that. But you need to make a decision. Either we start admitting that--” she took a deep breath, fearful of saying it out loud, “--that we have something going on between us. That we want each other, and we accept all the things that come with that. Or you decide we’re not doing it. And please,” her voice cracked, “if that’s what you decide, let me go. Because what we’re doing, what
you’re
doing, is killing me.”